Presently America and the children returned with the wailing_What Two Children Did

to the place where Mandy, 'Vada, and Aunt Sophie were standing, loftily

ignoring the angry mother and making caustic remarks calculated to add

to her discomfort.

In the capacious arms of his mother, Samuel Saul ceased his repining and

contentedly gurgled again. As the united ones went off, Martha Jane

Jenkins with her head in the air and America remorsefully weeping in the

rear, Ethelwyn said, "Well, our dollar's gone, and our baby too, and I

thought we had made such a bargain. I don't know what Mr. Smithers will

say."

"And poor Joe too," said Beth.

"There comes Mr. Smithers now," exclaimed Bobby.

"Yes an' I ain't got your puppies either, for when I got home I found my

boy had sold two and given away two, so there wasn't any left but what

we wanted to keep."

"Well, I'm thankful," said Ethelwyn; "for we bought a baby instead, only

its mother took it back, and we just had to use the rest of the money

for something else. Thank you, Mr. Smithers."

"You're entirely welcome," responded he.

_CHAPTER XIX_

_Bobby's Grandfather_

And now let's be glad,

While everything's bright.

Days that are sunny

Are shadowed by night.

That evening there was considerable news to tell mother when she came

from town, and she both laughed and lectured them a little over the baby

episode. After the children told her what Bobby had said about his

grandfather losing money, they asked anxiously, "Oh mother, did he lose

anything of ours?"

For the first time in a long while the two straight worry lines came

back between mother's eyes, and the children immediately climbed in her

lap to kiss them away.

"I can't tell yet, dearest ones," she said after a while. "I have been

very foolish to leave so much of our money in one bank, I am afraid, but

I had such faith, too much, perhaps, and I fear--"

It was very comforting to have their dear warm cheeks against her own,

and courage, almost vanquished during this trying day, came back. After

awhile she laughed with them again, and told them stories until bedtime,

promising them also that Joe's sister would be sent to the Home as soon

as she was able.

The next morning, however, the lines came back, and the children, seeing

them, resolved that they would write Bobby's grandfather a letter.

"If there's anything I'm glad of, it's that I know how to write," said

Ethelwyn. "It was very hard to learn."

They went up-stairs to the nursery where their own small desks were and

taking some of their beloved Kate Green a way paper with pictures of

quaint little children on it, after much trouble, ink, and many sheets

of paper, as well as consultations with Bobby and Nan, they finished and

posted a very small envelope to Bobby's grandfather, whose address they

obtained from Bobby.

Bobby's grandfather, on coming down the next morning to the bank, found

this communication among the official-looking matter on the desk. The

picture in the corner of the envelope was surrounded by these words:

"Little Fanny wears a hat,

Like her ancient granny;

Tommy's hoop was--think of that--

Given him by Fanny."

The poke-bonneted pair with Tommy and his hoop looked curiously out of

place among their official surroundings.

The lines of worry were thickly sown in the banker's face, and as there

were no round, rosy-cheeked children in his silent home to kiss them

away, they stayed and grew deeper each day. He half smiled, however, as

he picked up the Greenaway envelope and curiously broke the seal. This

is what he read:

"DEAR BOBBY'S GRANDFATHER,

"We live next door to Bobby, who is quite often a nice boy, though

he wishes us to say always, and we are sorry to learn that you are

losing change money, for your sake, and for fear you'll go on and

lose ours, Grandmother Van Stark's and the Home's. Ours doesn't

matter so much as the others, for we have $9.00 left of our

birthday money, and it's lasted so long that it will prob'ly go on

lasting, specially if we forget it, or unless we buy more babies,

which we shan't do now because of not being able; but dear

grandmother without money would be awful, and the Home not to have

money for the poor little city children that are sick would be

awful, too. Please, please don't lose that, and we will pray for

you and love you hard all the days of our life. Amen.

"As there is no more paper in our boxes on account of spoiling so

much we will say good-bye.

"ETHELWYN, BETH, NAN, and BOBBY.

"P.S.--The first one she wrote it.

"P.S.--My mother said because she had faith in you was why you have

our money, and so have we."

When the banker had finished this somewhat remarkable epistle, of which

the children had been so proud, there were tears in his eyes, although

his mouth was smiling, and the lines of worry did not seem so deep nor

so stern.

He pushed his other mail aside unread, and sat for a long time thinking.

Presently he called for his stenographer, and dictated telegram after

telegram, the import of which made that impassive person start and

glance up in amazement several times. Then, seizing a sheet of paper,

the banker started to write a letter for himself.

"DEAR CHILDREN, (it began)

"Do not worry. I shall not lose one penny of yours, nor Grandmother

Van Stark's, nor the blessed Home's, nor any one's, I hope, but my

own, and not enough of that to hurt; at any rate, I shall still

have enough, I think, to buy a railroad ticket to Bobby's house. So

tell him that I wish he'd tell his mother to have a good supper

to-morrow night, and you children must plan it and all come and eat

with me.

"Yours, with love,

"BOBBY'S GRANDFATHER.

"P.S.--Be sure to have plenty of candy for supper."

The excitement and the joy that this letter produced were something

startling. Away went the worry lines from Mrs. Rayburn's dear face, and

back came the laughter the children loved. In Bobby's house they planned

a most wonderful menu of fried chicken, candy, cake, and ice cream.

Mandy baked spice cakes at Nan's and Bobby's special request, and nobody

thought anything whatever about indigestion or after effects; for where

everybody laughs and is happy, there is no need to fear indigestion.

The children went to the station to meet the guest, and, when the train

came in, greeted him with shouts of welcome, and, proudly surrounding

him, marched down the street like a royal procession.

There would not be words enough to describe the feast that followed at

Bobby's house. All the children wished to sit next to his grandfather,

so that he had to change places at every course (all of which had candy

interludes) and thus that mighty matter was accomplished to the entire

satisfaction of the children.

And after supper Bobby's grandfather played games with them and soon

lost his worry lines, probably on the floor where he was playing horse

or bear. No one picked them up, so it isn't positively known where he

lost them. When Ethelwyn and Beth suddenly bethought themselves that

they were to go with their mother to the Home the next day, to take

Joe's sister there, it was at once decided that Bobby and Nan should go

too, for one beautiful outing before school should begin.

"And we will need it," said Bobby, with a deep sigh over the arduous

educational duties before him.

Then Bobby's grandfather brought out some curious knobby-looking bundles

from his valise, and while the children shut their eyes, he hid the

packages and then turned the children loose to find them. There was a

great outfit of Kate Greenaway writing paper for Ethelwyn; a black

doll-baby apiece for Beth and Nan; and a watch with a leather fob and

jockey cap attachments for his namesake, Bobby. There were also a book

and a game for each one. While they were playing with their gifts, Mrs.

Rayburn and Bobby's grandfather talked apart, and it was a happy talk,

as Ethelwyn and Beth could see when they came up to where they were

sitting.

When at last it was time to say good-night, Ethelwyn and Beth had a

surprise for Bobby's grandfather. It was four silver dollars. "Two of

our dollars are gone to help take Joe's sister to the Home," Beth

explained, "but this is for you on account of your losing the change

money. It's from us all, instead of good-bye presents we were going to

get for Nan and Bobby. They said they'd rather."

Bobby's grandfather hesitated just a little and was about to make a

gesture of refusal, when, seeing their mother shake her head, he kissed

the children's red cheeks and said, with a shake in his voice, "You dear

children, I'll keep these and your letter, as long as I live, so as not

to forget your faith in me."

_CHAPTER XX_

_The Visit to the Home_

On the train we ran through rain,

Then out in sun and blue;

And all the trees bent down and raced,

And all the houses too.

Somehow, that night, after the children were all in bed, and the grown

people were talking over the next day's journey, it seemed to Bobby's

grandfather that he too would like to go along, and he said he could not

for the life of him see why Bobby's mother should not go too, and also

Nan's father and mother if they wished.

Well, it was short notice, but by telegraphing, telephoning and telling

by mouth they arranged it; and the next morning quite an imposing party

boarded the Eastbound Limited, and took possession of the drawing-room

car, for Bobby's grandfather never did things on a niggardly plan.

He and Bobby's mother were seated on one side, and Nan's mother (her

father could not leave) and Mrs. Rayburn were across from them, while

Nan, Ethelwyn, Beth, and Bobby appeared and disappeared, like meteors,

in the most unexpected places. Joe's sister was not well enough that day

to accompany them, so it was arranged that her brother should bring her

as soon as she felt better.

If I have, by the use of the word "grandfather," given you an idea of

decrepitude and old age, in the case of Bobby's grandfather, I wish at

once to change that idea.

He was a very erect and handsome man, with a white mustache indeed, but

with a firm mouth underneath that gave no sign of diminished force.

He had always told Mrs. Rayburn that he thought it was very foolish for

her to give such large sums of money for charity.

"It's not right," he now repeated, twirling his mustache. The morning

paper lay across his knees, and, as he spoke, with an air of finality

and disapproval, he picked it up.

"What isn't right, grandfather?" asked Bobby, suddenly appearing on the

back of his chair, and encircling his grandfather's neck with a pair of

sturdy legs.

His grandfather drew him down by one leg into his lap.

"Giving all your money away to people who don't appreciate it," he

explained.

"How do you know they don't?" asked Bobby.

"Because, sir, people don't appreciate what is given to them, as much as

they do what they earn."

Bobby pondered over this.

"I like my Christmas presents better than the money I get for chopping

kindling," he replied at length; "because the Christmas money is more,

for one thing."

"And more certain," put in his mother, laughing; "the kindling money

isn't always earned."

"Are you talking about the Home money?" asked Ethelwyn, looking over the

back of the chair in front of them.

"Yes."

"But we like to give it, and so will you, when you see how nice it is,

and Dick and Aunty Stevens and the best cookies that she can make.

What's the good of keeping money? We can always buy more down at your

bank," she concluded easily.

"You may not always think so, young lady, nor take such wide views of

things. When you grow up, you may wish you had more money," said the

banker, laughing.

"Does keeping money make folks happy?" inquired Beth, suddenly popping

up.

The lines in grandfather's face deepened, and there came over it a look

of care.

"Not always, child, I must confess," he said at length.

"Besides, my father says not to lay up treasure for roth and must to

corrupt!" put in Nan, coming to the surface. At this, they all shouted,

much to Nan's discomfiture.

For awhile the banker looked out on the showery landscape, then he

turned to the children's mother.

"Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Rayburn," he said gently. "The world is all

too selfish;" and he sighed as he said it.

"It is indeed," came the emphatic answer. "There is no crime, there is

no sin, that has not for its basis selfishness. It is the evil part of

life, and the Christ life that ought to be man's pattern, is the type of

unselfishness."

"Well," said the banker, taking up his paper, "I am open to conviction."

The sun was shining when they arrived at the pretty station, and they

all stopped on the platform to listen a moment to the organ note of the

sea. As they waited, a wagon drove up, and a young fellow jumped out and

ran towards them.

"It's--it's--Dick! Dick who used to walk on crutches!" cried Ethelwyn,

fairly rubbing her eyes in astonishment.

There were no signs of lameness now in this tall youth, and his face was

radiant with happiness. He could not speak for a moment, as he shook

hands with those whom he knew, and of whom he had almost constantly

thought with heartfelt gratitude.

"My sakes! Aren't you mended up well, though?" said Beth, walking

around him admiringly.

They all laughed at this, of course, and Dick was then introduced to

Bobby's mother, his grandfather, and Bobby himself.

"Dick is the first patient of the Home," said Mrs. Rayburn, "and he does

it credit. He is Mrs. Stevens's right-hand man now. Where and how is

dear Mrs. Stevens?"

"She is well but could not leave to come to the train," said Dick. "She

can hardly wait to see you, though."

"I do sincerely trust she has baked a bushel of cookies," said Ethelwyn,

as they climbed into the wagon.

The approach to the Home was very beautiful. The sun was going down in a

blaze of glory, and the wagon wound around the hill road to where the

cottage, gay with flags and striped awnings, crowned its summit.

Then, above the roar of the sea and the clatter of hoofs, came the

sound of children's voices calling from the broad piazza,

"Welcome home! Welcome home!"

Then a child's voice sang,

"To give sad children's hearts a joy,

To give the weary rest,

To give to those who need it sore,

This makes a life most blest."

As Bobby's grandfather helped the grown people out of the wagon--the

children had climbed down without waiting for help--he cleared his

throat once or twice.

"I'm nearer conviction than I was," he said.

As she hurried towards the porch, Mrs. Rayburn smiled to herself.

Nan's mother waited, and walked up with Bobby's grandfather. Over her

had come a great and happy change; her eyes were now full of earnest

light, and she had forgotten her headaches and other small ills.

She now looked up into the banker's face.

"After all, life to be beautiful and to reach rightly towards eternity

should be helpful, and self-forgetful; do you not think so?" she said.

"I was long learning the two great commandments, which embody the whole

decalogue, and I probably never should have learned them if it had not

been for these blessed children, and their mother."

"H--m, h--m," said the banker.

On the porch were twenty children. In forty eyes the new light of

happiness was dawning. At the beginning, many of them had been hopeless

and even evil, but now it was all different, for they had found out that

they could laugh.

Aunty Stevens herself, full of laughter and bubbling over with joy at

seeing her friends again, surrounded by the shouting children, made them

more than welcome.

Bobby's grandfather was armed with a huge box, which he had

mysteriously guarded all day; he now set it down upon the porch.

"If you children don't make this box lighter at once, I shall have no

use for you," he declared. And they all, scenting candy with infallible

instinct, fell upon it with rapture.

They had tea on the lawn, that evening, and, after a consultation with

Mrs. Stevens, Bobby's grandfather sent a message over the telephone that

was followed very shortly by a man with ice cream and a huge cake. When

eight o'clock came, one of the teachers began to play a march on the

piano in the hall. At once the children fell into line, marking time

with their feet, and singing,

"Good-night, good-night,

Children and blossoms who sleep all the night,

Always will wake up happy and bright,

Good-night, good-night!"

As they sang, they marched away to bed. The others followed them in.

The boys' dormitories were in a building on one side of the lawn, and

the girls' on the other, while the babies' nursery was in the main

building.

The spirit of the Home was helpfulness, so each child aided some one

else in getting ready for the night. When they were in their white

night-gowns, they all dropped upon their knees, and one of the teachers

said a short prayer after which they all joined with her in the Lord's

Prayer.

When the guests came down into Aunty Stevens's sitting-room where the

open fire was dancing--for the evening was a trifle chilly--Bobby's

grandfather put a few questions to Mrs. Stevens.

"When the children are thievish and given to bad language and lying,

what do you do?" he asked.

"In some way they seem to shed those things, as a worm does its cocoon,

after they are here for a while," she answered. "In the light of loving

care, the sunny child nature comes out--it cannot help it, any more than

a rose can help blooming in the sun; and, with the other children who

have been here from the first to regulate things, we do not have much

trouble. They are too young to stay vicious, and when they go away they

are well enough grounded in good habits not to forget them, we hope, and

to go on helping others."

"Do you have to refuse many applicants?"

"Yes, that is one trouble. We ought to be able to take at least fifty

children, and we need an infirmary; but those things will come in time."

Bobby's grandfather opened his mouth to speak, just as Bobby himself

climbed into his lap with a question trembling on his lips.

"Well, sir?" inquired his grandfather.

"May I have some of the money you're going to leave me, to give now,

just as Ethelwyn and Beth did?" asked Bobby.

"How do you know I'm going to leave you any, you young freebooter?"

"Well, I s'posed you would; most people would think so, 'cause I'm named

for you, and you always said you liked me," remarked Bobby, somewhat

embarrassed.

His grandfather patted him comfortingly on the back.

"Yes, Bobby, I do like you, and all the better for your request. We'll

build the infirmary, and maybe more. I am open to conviction no more,"

he added, looking towards Mrs. Rayburn, "for I _am_ convicted and I hope

converted."

Presently America and the children returned with the wailing Samuel Saul